by Dwan Abrams
“That’s deep,” Franklin said, and nodded. “I like that. I’m gonna do that.”
“I hope you will.”
“A’ight, man,” Franklin said, standing to his feet and smoothing the creases out of his shirt. “Let me get back over to my cubicle before they realize I got missing. I’ll catch you at lunch.”
Greg snapped and pointed two fingers at his friend. But as soon as Franklin, which was his distraction, left his cubicle, all of Greg’s previous worries resurfaced, leaving him feeling deflated. Mentally, he was all over the place. He sat in his chair and considered what he’d do if by slight chance he did lose his job. The possibility didn’t sit well with him. In fact, the mere thought vexed his spirit. He had become so good at his job that he couldn’t imagine learning a new trade. Even if he elected to stay in the same industry, finding a suitable company to match his current compensation plan could prove difficult.
Then he stopped to consider his age. He wasn’t getting any younger. He’d be competing with guys fresh out of college, and here he was just a half decade away from forty. Although he viewed his level of expertise as a plus, he knew that his age would be a minus. Most employers wanted younger employees to train and mold, because they weren’t set in their ways.
He massaged his temple, trying not to let himself get stressed out over a situation that hadn’t occurred yet. He realized that he was letting fear get the best of him. Fear of being without a job. Fear of not being able to provide for himself and his wife. And most of all . . . fear of failure.
He reminded himself that God had not given him the spirit of fear and composed himself when he heard the office coming to life. People were chatting and settling into their workstations. He focused his attention on his work until 9:00 A.M., when he joined the rest of the team for their weekly staff meeting. They sat around the conference room table, listening to their manager talk about the state of affairs. Greg took copious notes and on occasion looked out the large window, catching a view of the clear sky.
He stopped writing when he heard his boss say, “I’m sure many of you have started hearing rumblings about a possible downsizing.” His tone sounded serious as he adjusted his burgundy tie. He sighed. “I’m disappointed to inform you all that it’s true.”
Outbursts exploded throughout the room. Greg felt like walking out of the meeting. He struggled to stay in his seat.
“Wait,” he continued, holding up his hands to shush the crowd. “Let me finish.” The chatter turned into a low roar, a dribble, then finally ceased. “Corporate hasn’t given us any names of affected personnel. We don’t know what they’re basing the cuts on, or how many people will be impacted.” He leaned on the long table. “I can assure you that I’ll fight to keep each and every one of you. I wish I had more to tell you.”
His words offered little comfort to Greg. He zoned out for the rest of the meeting, thinking about what he needed to do next. He thought about how his résumé needed to be updated. Even if he wasn’t on the chopping block, he didn’t like feeling vulnerable. He disliked leaving his fate in the hands of his employer. Maybe he had become too complacent and needed to explore other options, anyway.
He then thought about Shania and how she had turned her passion for cooking into a successful career and thriving business. He wondered if he had an entrepreneurial spirit lying dormant within.
When the meeting ended, Greg couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He gathered his belongings, went back to his desk, and logged off his computer. He then grabbed his briefcase and headed to his first appointment of the day.
A few hours later, Greg had met with all of his appointments and secured two new policies. That helped brighten his spirit, but he still didn’t feel like going back into the office; he had too much on his mind. He apologized to Franklin for reneging on lunch and decided to take the rest of the day off.
When he got home, he didn’t see Shania’s car in the garage. A part of him felt disappointed that she wasn’t there for him to talk to. Maybe that was for the best; since despite Franklin’s prompting, he felt that anything that came out of his mouth at this moment would be all death and no life.
He decided to wait until he found out whether he was getting cut or not before involving her. No point in making Shania worry if she didn’t have to. She already had enough on her plate.
He needed to clear his mind, so he changed out of his business attire and into riding clothes. He put on his helmet and took a ten-mile ride on a motorcycle trail that meandered through the deciduous woods along a creek.
As he traveled the concrete road, pushing against the wind, his previous fears resurfaced in his mind. He knew that he didn’t have control over what was happening at work, but he knew one thing for certain—God had his back. That belief helped him to silently pray and ask God to handle the situation and do what was best for him.
When he returned home and parked his bike in the garage, he showered and changed into a T-shirt and lounge pants. He poured himself an ice-cold glass of pomegranate juice and enjoyed the refreshing taste.
While leaning against the island in the kitchen, he heard keys fumbling at the garage entranceway. He put his drink down and opened the door for Shania. She was carrying a bag, so he took it out of her hand. She thanked him.
“How was your day?” she asked as she kicked off her heels.
He set the bag on the counter and rubbed the back of his neck. With a slight sigh he said, “It was okay.”
Shania walked over to him and stared him in the eyes. “I don’t like the way you sounded when you said that. What’s the matter?” She raised a brow.
Unwilling to lie to her, Greg told her about the meeting at work and the pending layoffs. She reached out and hugged him. Her soft body felt good to him. They shared a kiss.
With her arms wrapped around his waist, Shania stopped kissing Greg and said, “Honey, you’re smart, educated, and professional. If the company you work for is fool enough to let you go, that’s their loss. I don’t believe you’ll have any trouble getting a new job.”
He stepped back from her and rested his body against the counter. “It’s not as easy to get a job as it used to be. Atlanta is so saturated and competitive.” His pessimistic attitude didn’t surprise him, but his words still left a bitter taste in his mouth.
She held up her index finger and gently pressed it against his full lips. “Stop with all the negative talk. You already know who you are and whose you are. You know the source of your supply, and it’s not your job.”
Greg moved her hand from his lips and placed it over his heart. He allowed her words to marinate in his mind. He knew she was right.
“Besides,” she continued, “if push came to shove, you could always work with me. You know as soon as I finish one wedding, I get an invitation to cater another. We’ll always have work.” Her smile showed her sincerity. She began removing groceries from her bag.
Although he heard Shania say that he could work with her, he processed that as meaning working for her instead. He didn’t like the idea of not having an outside source of income and having to rely on his wife for financial support. Something about that just didn’t sit right with him. He liked being able to pay their household bills, go out to eat at nice restaurants, take his wife on vacation, and buy her gifts. Not being able to provide for her would make him feel like less than a man.
“Hopefully it won’t come down to that,” Greg said seriously.
A fleeting thought about owning his own company crossed his mind. He did a quick mental rundown of what he liked to do and was good at doing. He realized that he knew how to break cars down and rebuild them. His father had taught him all about cars and motorcycles. He then thought about businesses in his area and couldn’t remember seeing any businesses that specialized in restoring classic cars.
With his knack for working underneath the hood, and Franklin’s love for vintage vehicles, the idea of owning his own company suddenly became more appealing to him. Did he ha
ve what it took to be the head brotha in charge?
Seven
While Greg arose for work, Shania went back to bed to get a couple more hours of sleep. She had tossed and turned all night, and the moments when she finally found a spot comfortable enough to warrant rest, Greg started his own bouts of tossing and turning. Exhausted from her sleepless night, Shania rolled into the middle of the bed, allowing her skin to soak up the warmth Greg’s body had left, and within seconds, she had fallen into a deep sleep.
When Shania woke up, she lay in bed for a few extra minutes in a meditative state. She needed clarity of thought and hoped that meditation would give her some insight.
She felt bad for Greg, yet she didn’t think he had a need to worry. With his job performance, she was convinced he’d be one of the last people to go. Even if he did get downsized, Shania had a difficult time understanding why Greg was acting like that would be the worst thing that could happen to him. She could understand Greg’s anxiety better if he didn’t have any marketable skills, but he did. She also thought it would be a good time for him to pray and ask God to reveal his life’s purpose. Rather than wallowing in self-pity, she wanted Greg to walk in faith and live his destiny.
Maybe if they had a baby, Greg wouldn’t be so worried about his job situation, because he’d have someone else to focus on and give his energy to. She marveled at the thought of having a little one around the house. She wouldn’t mind having Greg as a stay-at-home dad. Lots of men were doing that these days, especially with corporate downsizing. Just the thought of Greg changing diapers and getting up in the middle of the night for feedings made her chuckle. To Shania, having her husband as the primary caregiver would be better than leaving her baby with a nanny or day-care provider, especially since she had no interest in giving up her career.
She pulled the sheets up to her neck and stared at the cathedral ceiling. Knowing she could’ve stayed in bed an extra thirty minutes, she forced herself to get up, get dressed, and finally dial the governor’s secretary.
She greeted the secretary in a professional manner on the first ring.
“Hi,” Shania began. “This is Shania Crinkle, owner of Eat Your Heart Out Cakes and Catering. I got your letter in the mail a few days ago, but I’ve been a bit busy, so I apologize for my tardy response.”
“Oh, it’s no problem at all.” The secretary went on to explain the induction ceremony and how they would have a head count of two hundred people. She informed Shania that she was one of the five candidates who the governor had decided to include in their catering pool. Whoever had the most appetizing menu and the most appealing—rich in quality samples—would be the chosen one to cater the event. The governor gave no specifics, except for the fact that he wanted finger foods—hearty finger foods that exhibited fine Southern cooking at its best. “Do you think you could have a sample menu and samples ready for taste testing by this Saturday?”
The wedding was this Saturday, and though she hated to add this extra stress to her already hectic schedule, there was no way she could pass up this opportunity. If she was selected—no, when she was selected—only God knew what doors this induction ceremony could open for her business.
Jittery with excitement, Shania promised the woman that she would have something ready by Saturday. She hung up and called her assistant to tell her that she’d need her to set up for the wedding while Shania met with the governor. She then went into the basement and scanned her shelves of cookbooks, pulling out every book that dealt with Southern cooking. She spent the next few hours marking potential recipes in her cookbooks and restructuring certain recipes to turn the final product into something that would constitute a finger food.
After she had a handful of recipes in tow, she began looking through the cabinets, the pantry, the deep freezer and refrigerator for the ingredients. After she gathered everything she’d need to complete the first two recipes, she tied her apron around her waist and washed her hands.
While working, she thought about Greg and his possible predicament. For her, she couldn’t imagine working for someone else; she never had the desire to work in corporate America. She liked being an entrepreneur. Her father had always told her that if she pursued her passion, the money would follow. Her love for creating gourmet meals felt as natural to Shania as breathing. Cooking was the one thing in life she’d do even if she didn’t make one red cent.
She tore a piece of wax paper and spread it across the counter. She kneaded some dough and sprinkled flour, hoping that she hadn’t contributed to Greg’s anxiety in any way. A feeling in her gut, call it female intuition, told her she had. She knew that men had fragile egos, and it didn’t take much to shatter them. She thought Greg’s willingness to provide for her was sweet but unnecessary. She didn’t need anyone to support her financially; her parents had made sure of that. What she needed from Greg was his unconditional love and emotional support, which he willingly provided.
In spite of her independence, she worked hard to make Greg feel needed and valued in their relationship. She refused to belittle him or make him feel as though he couldn’t do anything for her. She respected him and loved him too much for that. Besides, Greg did plenty for her. She loved Greg’s traditional values. Out of all the time she had known Greg, he hadn’t so much as asked her for five dollars. He took her to nice places, like her favorite restaurants, movies, plays, and concerts. Above all else, she enjoyed spending time alone with him. They didn’t have to be doing anything: just being with him was enough.
In addition to insisting on paying the household expenses, Greg wasn’t afraid to help out in other ways. He had no problem taking out the trash without being asked, and he maintained her car by keeping it full of gas, taking it in for scheduled service appointments, and detailing it. Not only did he give her his money, he gave Shania all of him–mind, body, and soul. She appreciated all of it and didn’t take him or his love for granted.
Her mother had been a good role model, Shania felt. She admired her mom for the way she had balanced her career and family. Both her parents had worked as dentists and shared a thriving practice, yet Shania’s mom still submitted to her husband. Her mom had once told her that just because a woman makes just as much or more money than her man, that doesn’t give her the right to tear down his manhood. She had further explained that what kept a man’s heart devoted to his woman wasn’t her beauty, body, intellect, or wealth, but the way she treated him and made him feel.
Shania wiped her flour-covered hands on a cloth towel and threw it on the countertop. She looked around her modern kitchen and realized how fortunate she was. Being able to get up every day and do what she loved was a blessing she didn’t take lightly or for granted. She wondered if Greg felt the same way about his job. He had told her that he liked what he did, but she questioned whether that was the same as living one’s purpose.
She grabbed a baking pan and sprayed it with nonstick cooking spray before placing pieces of dough on top. She then turned on the oven and slid the pan inside. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, she evaluated what she had to do next and exhaled. She finished preparing the main course, placed the food in the preheated oven, and set the timer.
While the food cooked, she went upstairs and fixed herself a smoothie. She then called Greg. After several rings, she got his voice mail. An uneasy feeling crept into her spirit. Even though at church Sunday Greg had said she’d been acting weird lately, deep down inside, she felt like he was the one who had been acting pretty weird. Ever since that moment in church when he’d walked toward her with the weight of something pressing against his shoulders, he hadn’t been the same. Now, the big question of whether or not he would keep his job hung over his head, and he seemed more distraught than ever.
She tried calling him twice more, but she still got the voice mail. One look at the clock told her that it was a quarter past five, so he was not at work. And if he wasn’t at work, then why couldn’t he pick up his phone? Instead of leaving a message after the beep,
as his voice mail so courteously requested, she hung up the phone and tightened her apron around her waist. Whatever phase he was going through, she hoped he came out of this thing fast. She was not too fond of the new change that was taking place in her husband. Was he going to snap back, or was she going to have to snap him back?
Eight
Greg stared at his iPhone as he contemplated calling Shania back, but then decided that he didn’t want to lose focus on the task at hand. He continued working on Mother Washington’s pipes until he could flush the toilet repeatedly without the water rising to the top of the bowl, threatening to spill over.
“Mother Washington!” he called, and she hurried into the bathroom as fast as her fragile legs and cane would take her.
When she stepped into the bathroom, her eyes were scrunched in pain, and she was holding the side of her head. “Not so loud, suga,” she said, massaging her forehead. “That headache keeps sneaking up on me.”
Greg apologized and lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “Watch this,” he said and flushed the toilet about ten times. Not once did the water rise.
“You are a doll,” she said and hooked one arm through his and gave it a strong tug. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” She patted his hand softly. “This old house is just falling apart.” She cleared phlegm out her throat and spit into the handkerchief that she kept balled in her hand. “Henry wanted me to move outta here before he passed, but I said naw. I been in this house this long. Why leave right ’fore the Lord take me home?”
Greg wasn’t sure what to say. This was the first time Mother Washington had ever talked about her late husband with him. He had heard stories floating around church, talking about how her husband’s health had been failing for years before he finally passed away three years ago. He’d had a bad everything—a bad heart, bad kidneys, bad liver, bad lungs. Basically, years of unhealthy eating, cigarettes, alcohol, and obesity had finally caught up with him.
